


Salvation

by roseblanche



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Fluff, Gay Will Byers, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Mike Wheeler, Kind of a fix it fic, M/M, Mike Wheeler Loves Will Byers, Original Character(s), Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 03, Siblings Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseblanche/pseuds/roseblanche
Summary: There was no more hiding behind this anymore, and Mike knew it for sure now. He knew it as he took one last glance at the Byers house, which held so many of his memories with his best friend over the years. He knew it as he dejectedly rode away on his bike. He knew it as he wished Will was next to him, riding his bike in tandem, fringe flying back in the wind to reveal his forehead. He knew it as he walked into his house feeling numb and alone, and without any hesitation, letting his mom wrap her arms around him like he was that same little boy who just watched Will’s lifeless body being dragged out of the lake.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Will Byers & Mike Wheeler, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. Every Little Piece

His heart weighed heavy in the confines of his chest, pulsing a steady, isolated rhythm beneath his ribs. The wetness soaking him from head to toe was quickly becoming an inseparable mixture of salty tears and cold rain water. Maybe his friends could try to make amends, _Mike_ could try to make amends, but the damage was already done. 

“Castle Byers?” 

“Forget about it, Mike.” He growled, wincing at the harsh tone of his own words. 

“Will, c’mon, man—”

“Seriously, we have bigger things to worry about.” Will bit back quickly, dismissing his friend's efforts of salvation. 

He didn’t want any of this. He didn’t want to grow up, he didn’t want to be pitied, and he most certainly did not want to spend one more second listening to Lucas and Mike obsess over how to win Max and El back. While the rest of his friends had spent their summer exploring that thrilling high of firsts—relationships, dates, kisses—Will was stuck finding solace in D&D campaigns and arcade games. He didn’t have a girl to console him like the other boys did, and he resented himself for not even wanting that in the first place. He instead longed for the comfort he found in a pair of skinny, pale arms wrapping protectively around his shoulders, or sharing a heart-to-heart conversation with the one person who never looked at him like he was a freak. But he knew that those days of companionship were now few and far between, and his childish fantasies of a world where two boys could be close solely for the fact that they cared about each other could no longer be used as a cover up for how he truly felt. 

He missed Mike. Terribly. Even if he wasn’t fully ready to admit that to himself. 

But right now, for the first time in months, Mike actually seemed to _care_. Will had Mike's attention, and it felt selfish to enjoy it so much, but he did. So when a pair of frail, white fingers wrapped around his thin wrist, tugging him to a stop, he didn’t protest it. He glanced over his shoulder, pellets of rain obscuring his vision, and met a pair of enticing dark eyes, shining with sorrow. And Will wanted to look past it—because people had been doing it for years now, and he _hated_ it, absolutely hated it when people pitied him—but he saw it. He saw the pity. It’s something that Mike had managed to avoid over the years. He was there to serve as a shoulder to cry on, but never dared to let Will feel like he was a burden or something fragile that had to be tiptoed around. 

Once upon a time, Mike was the only person who made Will feel like he wasn’t broken. 

But not anymore. Will saw it, clear as day, shining behind the boy's guilt. _He knows_. 

“I’m sorry about what I said.” Mike whispers, his voice barely registerable above the forceful rain and crackling thunder. 

Mike _knew_ he was digging the dagger deeper, cutting into an already open wound. Will’s chest flared with anger all at once. He wanted to scream—at Mike, at Lucas, at the whole world. 

_You know how I feel, don’t you?_

But he bit his tongue, and swallowed down the words that were threatening to fall off his lips. “Me too,” He chokes out, mouth aching as he withholds the temptation to scream what was really on his mind. 

“No, _no_ , Will, you don't have anything to apologize for.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Mike was scrambling to restore what he’d damaged, but Will wasn’t a saint in the situation. He hadn’t meant to infer that El—who had not only been nothing but kind to him, but had also helped save his life two times—was just some “stupid girl.” She wasn’t, not in any sense of the word. He was just trying to point out how his friends fascination with teenage girls in general was stupid. But that didn’t really help his case, like, _at all_ , so he just blurted the first thing that fell off his lips. He missed the days when Mike would spend hours in Will’s bedroom planning campaigns instead of hours in Hopper’s cabin swapping spit with Eleven. 

They both knew though, despite Will’s feeble phrasing, it was Mike's words specifically that broke a deep seeded trust between the two boys and slowly began to fray their friendship at the seams. There was nothing left but a stray piece of thread to cling on to, and Will wished he could just take a pair of scissors and cut himself off, removing himself like one of those unnecessary tags that stuck out of expensive looking polo shirts and served as nothing more than an eyesore. Any piece of Michael Wheeler that was once a part of his life could be exiled and Will could finally, _finally_ , just move on. 

But it was hard when Mike looked at him with those wide, doe eyes and began to shrug off his jacket, dry hair quickly becoming drenched as he held out the thin material, beckoning Will to take it. 

“Mike, I’m already soaked, just leave it.” 

“Please?” 

Will stood still in the downpour, rain cascading down his back and through his hair. He looks over to Lucas, who’s brow is furrowed, eyes shining with that same look of sympathy and guilt. He shakes his head gently. “Mike, it’s fine.” He croaks. 

“Please, Will.” He repeated, indignantly. “It’s freezing.”

It really wasn’t _that_ cold, but Mike was insistent, and Will couldn’t ignore his efforts to make up for what had transpired between them earlier. He reaches out, gently tugging the jacket out of Mike's grip and sliding his arms through, throwing the hood over his head in an attempt to trap a bit of warmth. “Thanks.” 

He averts his eyes, pulling the wind breaker tighter around his waist, clenching the wet fabric between his fingers. It doesn’t fix everything—not even close—but it’s a lifeline. And he holds onto it. 

He holds onto it when Lucas corners him in the tool shed and tries to press the matter further. 

He holds onto it whenever he can feel the back of his neck pricking with the familiar, overwhelming sensation of cold air and goosebumps that’s accompanied by the shortness of breath, alerting him that the Mind Flayer is near. 

He holds onto it as Mike and Eleven continue to center themselves around one another, only ever caring about each other’s safety and well-being, hardly any regard for anyone else involved. He’d find it cute if it didn’t feel like a stab to the chest every time it happened. 

And when he catches himself becoming angry again, he tries to remind himself that Mike doesn’t owe him anything. And he tries—he _really_ tries not to let his emotions get to him when Mike accidentally blurts out that he loves her. But they surface, and all he can do is avert his gaze down towards his lap, fiddling with his fingers. He can feel Jonathan’s eyes on him, and he silently prays that no one else in the room can see through him quite so easily. 

Eventually, for what Will can only hope is the last time, they defeat the Mind Flayer, and close the gate to the Upside Down. He sits somberly in the back of an ambulance, red and blue lights gleaming around the parking lot, obscuring his vision as he clings tightly to the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It’s only when the glare of light leaves his line of sight that he looks up and locks eyes with his mom. And he doesn’t hesitate to run into her arms and let himself be held, crying into her shoulder like a little kid, sheerly for the fact that he _can_ —that she’s here. He sobs and clings to her as if he wasn’t annoyed by her affection just two hours earlier. 

Then he realizes. “Where’s Hopper?” 

And he pulls away from her embrace just enough to see tears filling the brims of her eyes. He sees her gaze drift off to a place just over his shoulder, and he follows that gaze only to find El standing, deserted and abandoned, in the middle of the parking lot. She wraps her arms around herself, looking lost and sullen and alone. Tears trickle out of her eyes and her face crumbles. 

_Hopper._

The look on Eleven's face matches his moms—grief, agony, defeat. The same look he saw her wear whenever he’d had a particularly bad episode last year, and the same look that had been etched into Mike’s features as he talked to Will in the tool shed, mind and body nearly stripped away from him under the guise of the Mind Flayer. 

_Hopper didn’t make it._

“Mom,” he croaks out, “What about El?” 

* * *

Will wasn’t angry. He _wasn’t_. Because, really, he should be past that by now. Mike didn’t care the way he once used to, and he would just have to get used to that. 

It was just hard. Mike and Will have been nearly attached at the hip since Kindergarten. And, yeah, Mike had been more than a little preoccupied most of the summer, but Will had still expected him to at least check in. Stop by the house, invite him to the movies, maybe even just shoot him a quick phone call. That’s all Will was asking for at this point. The bare minimum. 

He doesn’t have much memory from the week he was possessed, but he _does_ remember Mike. He was the only person Will could talk to after being saved from the Upside Down, the only person who made him feel at least _somewhat_ understood. And whenever he was struggling, Mike was right there by his side, helping to pick up the pieces. 

But the snowball came and went. Mike’s crush didn’t. And slowly but surely, his after school plans with Will began turning into after school plans with El instead. The first time he’d cancelled, he'd looked so earnest and hopeful that Will couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad about it. “Can I take a rain check?” He’d asked, hesitantly, obviously unsure of how Will would react. Will simply forced a smile and choked out a small, “sure,” before dragging his bike from the rack and peddling off to his house alone. 

One rain check quickly turned into a weekly routine of excuses. “I’m busy,” and, “oh, sorry, I already have plans with El today,” and, perhaps the most painful one, “I actually have a date tonight.” 

Everytime, Will would muster up the same smile that he had gotten so used to wearing as a facade, and he would recite some generic response of, “okay,” or “alright, maybe next time,” or “awe, looks like Wheeler is finally growing up,” and he would make sure to accentuate that last line with a teasing smirk and the soft nudge of an elbow.

He was hiding behind an abundance of bottled up feelings, and the pettiness he’d harnessed over the months felt like it was about to explode out of his chest. 

The same pettiness that was now eating away at him as he raked his pencil across the thick paper of his sketch pad, willing himself to draw something— _anything_ —that was a distraction from Mike, or Starcourt, or really, just this summer in general. 

Why hadn’t Mike come over? It's been nearly a week since everything happened, and he hasn’t received so much as a phone call to the house. Unless, of course, Mike _had_ called, only to chit chat with Eleven and then go about his day, no care for anyone else who resided in the Byers household. 

Will and El had some kind of unspoken bond with one another, and Will wasn’t sure if he could root it to the upside down or to something else entirely. He just knew that, despite not being particularly close, they understood each other in a way no one else really did. He felt secure when they were together, yet somehow, found it hard to build a real, fortified _friendship_ with her. If they got caught in the same room alone, he fled, and during family dinner nights, he often avoided making direct conversation with her. And when it was just them, he oftentimes found himself becoming snappish, and maybe a little off putting. 

It wasn’t anything personal, he just hadn’t had the chance to get close to her the way the other members of the Party did. And if he was being completely honest, he felt guilty. He wondered if she saw right through him. It felt like she did, sometimes. Maybe she really _could_ read minds like they had always joked about, and maybe she knew _exactly_ how Will felt about her boyfriend. Boyfriend? Will wasn’t sure anymore. 

The face staring back at him on the thick piece of paper revealed exactly what Will already knew to be true. In an attempt to get his mind _off_ of Michael Wheeler, he had done nothing but continue thinking of him. He lifted his pencil, and there, staring back at him, were the same dark eyes and messy hair he’d drawn a million times over. 

Will huffs out a sigh. He slams his pencil onto the desk, and without thinking, rips the page right down the middle, crumpling the two halves, and quickly discarding them in the trash can as if the boy himself never even existed. 

He mostly plans to spend the rest of the day sulking in resentment, and maybe play his atari for a little bit, but those plans are effectively squashed when rough knocking rings throughout the house. 

“El are you gonna get that?” Will yells. No response. The knocks ring out again. Will huffs before shoving himself back in his chair and stomping his way out of the confines of his room. He finds Eleven sitting curled up on the couch, casually binging one of her soap operas. “El?”

"What?" She blinks out of her stupor, casting her gaze away from the television. 

"The door?" He questions, trying his best not to sound irritated. Her face contorts as Will makes his way across the foyer towards the door. “Sorry, habit.” 

Will sighs internally. _You’re just having a bad day, don’t take it out on her._

Merely minutes after giving up all hope, he swings open the front door to find Mike standing on the porch, swaying nervously in one of his casual blue polo shirts, hair becoming frizzy and curled in the mid-summer heat. Will’s heart really shouldn’t have lurched in his throat. “Uh,” He coughs awkwardly. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” Mike smiles a little sheepishly. 

Will chastises himself for sounding so utterly shocked. Mike has been his best friend since like, forever, he really shouldn’t be _that_ surprised that he showed up. But—wait, no—maybe he wasn’t crazy. Mike was probably just here for Eleven. That’s the only logical explanation. Why else would he take so long to simply just _check in_ with him? Him and Lucas probably spent the whole week coming up with a plan for Mike to fix things with her, he wasn’t here to see Will. 

“Uh, what’re you—”

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Oh.” _Oh._ “Okay,” Will concedes, stepping to the side so that Mike could come in. 

The two boys trail off towards his room, but stop when passing by Eleven in the living room. Will makes a chaste attempt at inviting her to hang out with them, but before he could even finish his sentence, Mike was tugging at the fabric of his shirt in a way of saying _no, stop_ , and he compiled without question. Will’s door closes with a sharp _click_ behind the two boys, and before Will can suggest something to do, Mike begins talking. 

“I’m sorry,” He blurts without any preamble, and Will takes a moment to swivel around, a little shocked by his friend's sudden outburst. “I just—I’ve been kind of shitty this summer.” He continues, recognizing the flash of confusion crossing Will’s features. “I mean, not just to you, but to you especially, and I don’t know how to fix things and I’ve been spending all week thinking about what I should say and I just—” He pauses abruptly, looking defeated with himself. He eventually shrugs. “I’m sorry.” 

Will gapes for a minute, unsure of how to respond. This is definitely _not_ what he was expecting to hear today. There’s a part of him, tucked away in a dark corner of his mind, that wants to brush him off. Say something along the lines of, _too little too late_ , and push him out the door to be on his merry way. But Mike was giving him that look—the look of fear masked by hope, like Will was something precious he was about to lose. And how could Will ever stay mad at Mike when he looked at him with those dark eyes that were blown as wide as a puppy begging for a bone. So he swallowed his pride and choked out, “It’s okay, Mike.” 

“No,” he minutely shakes his head, and with a sigh, plops down onto Will’s bed. “It’s not okay, Will. I hurt you. I was a total asshole.” 

“Okay, but you’re here now, right? And I’m okay.” Will shrugs. “Really, Mike, I’m over it.” 

“Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was a total dick.” 

Will snorts, holding back a laugh. But Mike was right. What he said _still_ ached in his chest. 

_It’s not my fault you don’t like girls._

Mike can’t take that back. But, in genuine, Michael Wheeler fashion, he was here, and he was apologizing. He was at least _trying_ to make things right. And that’s all Will could really ask for at this point. He shrugs, hastily. “I forgive you.” 

“You shouldn’t.” 

And that makes Will actually chuckle. Because Mike was still looking at him like he was gonna run away and leave him behind. As if he could ever. “Would you get over yourself?”

Mike’s face falls, despite Will's lighthearted tone. “Mike, it’s _okay_.”

He goes to say something else—a rebuttal, Will can only assume—but closes his mouth, realizing it’s not gonna get him anywhere. Slowly, ever so slowly, a small smirk creeps onto Mike's face. “You’re too forgiving for your own good.” 

“Yeah, well,” Will quirks his mouth in a teasing sort of manner, “maybe I won’t be so easy on you next time.” 

They both laugh softly, all too easily falling back into their old, familiar routine. 

“Yeah, _no._ ” Mike relents. “That’s the whole point. There’s not gonna _be_ a next time.” 

“I don’t know,” Will clicks his tongue, joking. “You _are_ kind of a dumbass sometimes.” 

Mike mocks a glare before laughing lightly. “Shut up.” 

They spend a lot of the day after that reconnecting. Will shows Mike some of the drawings he’s been working on recently, to which Mike responds with a slew of compliments and praise, leaving Will pink in the face. They read some comics, chat about different fantasy books they’ve read, and drink enough soda to rot their teeth (the old version, because Mike hates New Coke). And sooner or later, things begin to wind down. The sun begins to set, casting Will's room in a dusky haze, becoming darker by the minute. That’s when Mike says something that takes Will by complete surprise. 

“Do you wanna plan a campaign?” 

Will blinks, unsure if Mike is serious or not. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“I mean,” Mike trails off for a minute. “Yeah.” 

When Will takes too long to respond, Mike speaks up again, filling the silence. 

“I was just thinking, y’know,” he fiddles with his fingers, “and like, I miss you, I guess.” He looks around nervously, appearing uncharacteristically unsure about what he’s saying. “Sorry, if that’s like—I mean, I know it’s my fault, so…” He keeps his gaze downturned towards his lap, brows furrowed, fiddling with a loose thread on Will’s sheets. 

“No, it’s…” Will finds himself trailing off as well. “I miss you too.” 

Mike nods hesitantly before meeting his eyes again, hope filling his features as if there was even the _smallest_ possibility that Will would say no. “So, you wanna plan a campaign?” 

“Yeah,” Will nods, a smile overtaking his face. “Yeah, definitely.” 

* * *

“Will, what’s going on?” 

There was no real point in asking. His four friends could tell _exactly_ what was happening. Boxes were scattered everywhere, some half full, some overflowing with piles of books and pictures and kitchen utensils. Everything was moving so fast. Just one week, _one week_ , and they’d be far, far away from Hawkins. It wasn’t exactly surprising—his mom had contemplated the idea of moving for a while now. She brought it up to them weeks ago, but at the time, Will had figured it was just some crazy one off idea and his mom would be over it within a few days. Apparently not. He couldn’t blame her. Not really. Hawkins wasn’t exactly filled with the most amazing memories for anyone in their family. 

But it _was_ their home. It was where their people were. It was the only home any of them had ever known. And now they had to leave. 

If you had asked Will three months ago about moving, he maybe would’ve considered it. He was feeling a little misunderstood by pretty much everyone important in his life. But the problem was, things had been good lately. Him and Mike had mended whatever piece of their friendship had become broken over the summer, and the Party had spent the past few months trying to just be normal kids—they went to the arcade, binged their favorite movies, went swimming at the quarry and spent the whole time playing chicken like the kids they were. They had even spent a few days playing the D&D campaign Will and Mike had come up with. 

Obviously things weren’t perfect—Will was adjusting to living with Eleven, and between her and his mom, the atmosphere of his house had been tense and strained. Always finding a way to skirt around the big fat elephant standing at attention in the middle of the room. El and Max seemed to help each other though—they each understood what the other was going through in a way that the boys did not. And Will wanted to help, but he just didn’t know how. He and El had never been particularly close—they made casual conversation when they could, but they never talked about the important things, the _real_ things. Even though it felt like they had some kind of mutual understanding in that area. 

“We’re moving,” El answered for him as he fell silent. Her bluntness was truly a blessing sometimes. He watched his friends faces fall, confusion crossing their features. Mike was the first to speak up. 

“What?”

Then, Max. “Why?” 

“Where?” Lucas pipped in.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Dustin asked incredulously. 

“We didn’t really know until yesterday.” Will shrugged tensely. 

“Joyce says we need a fresh start,” El states, matter-of-factly. 

“That’s such bullshit!”

“ _Mike_.” Max warned. “Stop.” 

“No, it is! It’s bullshit.” His face was red hot with anger, but Will has seen this routine more times than he can count. He wasn’t actually angry, he was just lashing out because he was upset. And that became especially apparent when he turned towards Will and his face fell. “You guys can’t move.” 

Will averted his eyes towards the floor in an attempt to keep himself from crying. He could feel his eyes welling up and a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed it down quickly. “We have to.”

“When are you going?” Lucas asked, sadly. 

Will fell quiet. He didn’t want to answer that one. Thankfully for him, Eleven spoke up again. “One week.” 

_“One week?”_ Dustin shrieked. 

Will scanned the faces of his friends, immediately coming to regret it when his eyes fell on Mike. He has that far away look in his eyes—the same look he had when Will was possessed, and when he talked about the mysterious girl who had disappeared after helping to save him from the Upside Down. 

“I’m sorry guys,” He shrugs, defeated. “I wish we knew sooner.” 

“We’re gonna miss you,” Max admits, unabashedly. 

El nods solemnly. “We’ll miss you too.” 

The room falls silent, only being broken when Mike huffs melodramatically. “This is so unfair. You guys can’t leave, you _can’t_.” 

Will could tell that he was getting slowly worked up. He was trying to channel his hurt into anger, but his walls were slowly breaking and the edge to his voice was evident, as was the glassy coating to his eyes. “What about our Party? What about everything we’ve been through? No one else understands the way we do!”

“That’s why my mom wants to leave,” Will whispers. “She wants to leave it all behind. She wants to start over.” 

“She wants me and Will to go somewhere safer.” El tacks on. Mike looked at a loss. He hangs his head, and Will can tell he’s trying to fight back tears at this point. He was too. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Will babbles, hoping to find some salvation in the situation. “We’ll come back to visit. And maybe you guys could come visit us, too, yeah?” His words applied to everyone, but they all knew his efforts were more directed towards Mike. This was obviously impacting him the most. He was losing his best friend and—well, Will really wasn’t sure what him and El were anymore. Things had been admittedly awkward between the pair ever since Starcourt. They weren’t back together, and the tension in the air between them was palpable. They made a somewhat awkward attempt at being friends, but everyone could tell they had never been very good at that. Will wondered why. He wondered if it was because they were never really friends before they were something more. Regardless, Mike was losing El, too. And Will knew how much he cared about her. That had to hurt. 

“Thanksgiving?” El suggested. “Or maybe Christmas.” 

This made Mike perk up a little. “Yeah?” He looked between El and Will. 

“Totally,” Will shrugged it off like it was no big deal. “You guys could make a road trip out of it. Nancy could drive you. It could be fun.”

“Okay, wait,” Lucas cut in with a small chuckle. “Where exactly would we be _going_?”

“Oh,” Will and El laughed lightly, realizing they forgot perhaps the most important detail of the whole situation. “Chicago.”

 _“Chicago?”_ Max exclaimed. 

“Yes.” El grinned sheepishly. Secretly, Will knew she was a little excited to move there. And if Will was being completely honest with himself, he was too. It was a bigger city. People in bigger cities tended to be a little more _accepting_ than in a small, conservative town like Hawkins, Indiana. Will thought, unabashedly, in a corner of his mind, that maybe he’d finally have the chance to be with someone. Maybe he’d meet a boy like him—someone who understands, someone Will can share his soul with. And maybe, _just maybe_ , it’ll all turn out okay.

* * *

Everything had been different lately. Not _bad_ different, just— _different._ Mike was confused. He was… conflicted? No, he didn’t think so. Maybe he was at first, but not anymore. He didn’t know exactly. He just knew that three months ago he had been clinging to El like a koala bear and making out with her anytime he had a spare second of breath, but now he could barely sit through a conversation alone with her without it becoming completely awkward.

And Mike hadn’t been a very good friend this year—not in the slightest, and certainly not to the person he cared about most. Eleven seemed uninterested in getting back together, and apparently they didn’t know how to function as two people who were just friends, so he hadn’t been making much of an effort with her and instead shifted his focus on fixing things with Will. Mike figured since he didn’t have her to talk to, he would always have Will. Which is, admittedly, kinda fucked. He didn’t intend to treat his best friend like a backup, he just realized that his efforts were better focused on Will, who was all too forgiving and eager to see past everything that had happened. Mike didn’t deserve him. 

And over the weeks, he had come to realize just how entirely _stupid_ he had been when he took his best friend for granted. Because the more and more time he spent with Will, the more he realized just how much he missed it. And he was surprised to find that he had been focusing less and less on Eleven. He was doing his own thing, and she was doing hers, and it was actually kind of _nice_. He missed her, he did. But maybe, just _maybe,_ Max and Hopper were kind of right. 

Besides, this newfound independence had revealed more to Mike about himself this summer than he ever thought possible, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Most people would probably tell him that it was just a phase. Something that comes and goes in a moment of vulnerability, a moment of weakness. These feelings he had? They weren’t real and they wouldn’t last forever. He was simply just confused. Nothing more, nothing less. Mike had tried telling himself that. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was lost, and newly single, and he was projecting. Whatever feelings he had for Eleven, he was projecting those onto one of the most important people in his life simply because they were close and spent a lot of their time together. That had to be it, right? 

But it couldn’t be. Because he found himself taking note of things he wouldn’t have previously noticed, and he found himself with flushed cheeks and a racing heart more often than he’d ever like to admit to. And it was scary. Because the more Mike took notice of these feelings, the more he noticed that they weren’t anything new. It wasn’t just a _phase_ , and it wasn’t a moment of weakness that he could just _get over_. It was real and it was tangible and it was nerve wracking, and there was nothing Mike could do to make it all go away. No matter how hard he tried. And he _had_ tried.

He had always felt something different with Will. Their bond had gone deeper than the generic pair of best friends, that he had always known. They had always been a little less afraid to be affectionate with one another, and they could always talk to each other about anything. Until recently, Mike had always chalked it up to the fact that they were each other's first friends. Meeting when they were only in kindergarten, naturally, they were closer than anyone else in the Party. But the more they grew up, the harder it became to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of his mind, telling him that _something_ was missing. _Something_ in there had always been screaming at him, but he could never pinpoint exactly what that _something_ was until a few months ago. 

His summer had been full of surprises. But nothing shocked him as much as finding out Will and Eleven were moving. He had never been good at concealing his emotions, and between the confusion and sadness, he had found himself becoming angry. Angry because he was confused. Angry because he was upset. Angry because he was trying not to cry. Angry because he was losing both of them _again_. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Will tried, scrambling to salvage what little control he had left of the situation. “We’ll come back to visit. And maybe you guys could come visit us, too, yeah?” 

“Thanksgiving?” El suggested. “Or maybe Christmas.” 

And this made Mike smile slightly. Of course, _of course_ , Will and El were trying to find the positive in a shitty situation. That’s just the kind of people they were. They were trying to make the best of it, because this was non-negotiable, and whether any of them liked it or not, they _were_ leaving. “Yeah?” He looked between the pair, suddenly taking note of their striking similarity. 

“Totally,” Will shrugged it off like it was no big deal. A total no-brainer. “You guys could make a road trip out of it. Nancy could drive you. It could be fun.”

The serious tone of their conversation quickly dissipated as the group began to talk about various different dates and times that they could carve out in order to see each other. Will figured they could come back for Christmas, and the Wheelers could visit during Thanksgiving. They all unanimously decide that—assuming spring break plays out in their favor—they could all go to Chicago for Will’s birthday. 

The Party spent nearly every second of the next week together. They were making up for lost time, trying to be an ordinary group of friends who didn’t have shared trauma from an otherworldly experience that only they could truly understand. Max continued to dominate the arcade, although Lucas and Dustin were beginning to gain traction. Afterall, Dustin still held steady in his second place ranking. 

Movie nights in the Wheelers basement had become somewhat of a tradition between the six friends, and Mike realized it would probably be a long time before he got to do this with Will and Eleven again. So if he found himself burrowing a little closer into Will's side than normal, he didn’t think anything of it. And he adamantly ignored the stirring in his chest when him and Will reached for the popcorn at the same time and their hands lightly brushed together in the bowl. Because that would be _way_ too cheesy and cliché and sappy for Mike's liking.

_Nope, no thank you, stopping that thought right there._

They had watched at least five movies, and consumed an unholy amount of sugar that left them all dizzy with raging stomach aches. Originally, the group had planned to pull an all-nighter and stay up until daylight when the sun began peeking through the curtains adorning the windows of the basement. But alas, the clock was just barely striking the time of two o’clock in the morning, and half of them had already passed out with the other half not too far behind. Being the only three left awake, Mike watched as Eleven concentrated fiercely on correctly braiding Max's hair. And he was somewhat astonished to find that that little flare of jealousy and possessiveness he used to get when the two girls hung out together was no longer stirring in his gut. Instead, he felt his heart pounding a steady rhythm beneath his ribcage, hyper aware of the fact that Will was asleep on his shoulder. 

And when they all went swimming together, Mike found it hard to care that El was wearing something a little more revealing than she ever had in the past. But he also found it hard not to let his eyes glaze over Will’s bare torso, and trail up to the mole resting just below his jaw on his neck. And for a minute—just a miniscule second of Mike's time—he found himself wanting to kiss it. 

If it was hard to look past before, it had now become impossible. Mike had spent a majority of his summer reconfiguring what he thought he knew about love and relationships, and compartmentalizing his feelings for Eleven. He thought that he’d gotten over her—no, scratch that—he _knew_ that he had gotten over her. At least, to a certain extent. He’d always love Eleven, but he wasn’t sure if he’d always _need_ her. Not in _that_ way. And there was a very fine line between the two feelings that had been incredibly blurred to Mike for the longest time. Because while they could kiss, and laugh, and he could teach her what little things he knew about life and the world, it seemed like they had a hard time being friends. Like, _real_ friends. He _needed_ Will, and as much as he’d like to go on denying just how deeply his feelings ran, he couldn’t do it anymore. He _needed_ Will. In _that_ way. He proved that to himself when he ran back to him after things with El had started falling apart.

Max and Lucas, although they had their issues, had something more than teenage hormones and making out on a daybed. They had conversations, and not just about the simple things, but about the deep stuff. And they teased each other, and they laughed until they couldn’t feel their stomachs, and they were friends _before_ they were something more. Mike was pretty sure he skipped that part with El. She was alone and scared when she met Mike. He was the only thing she ever knew outside of that lab, and he had taken advantage of the fact that he had a girl who was clinging to him and didn’t look at him like he was some freak of nature. 

They were packing, and in a few hours, the Byers would leave Hawkins forever. And Mike didn’t want Eleven to leave like this. He _wanted_ to be able to talk to her without being a jittery mess, and he wanted to build a friendship before they jumped back into a relationship that neither one had much experience with. So he went to talk to her (which didn’t go very well because they were still both _so awkward_ ) and try to salvage whatever piece of their relationship was still functioning. But then, she kissed him. 

He kept his eyes open, and with very little effort put into the motion, he kissed back. And here’s the funny part—it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it did when they had made out this summer, and it didn’t give him quite the same butterflies as it did a few months ago. 

And Mike was confused, because this _was_ right, wasn’t it? If him and Eleven got back together, things would go back to normal, _right?_

So he let it happen, because he was convinced it’s what was _supposed_ to happen. The hours passed by too quickly, and the goodbyes went by even quicker. He consciously avoided Will, giving him one or two short hugs, avoiding prolonging them in fear of becoming a little too vulnerable and shedding a few too many tears. 

El hugged him like she was afraid to let go. She rested her forehead against his, and Mike continued to let it happen. _This is how it’s supposed to happen,_ he kept telling himself. 

_But it’s not._

Mike watched the car drive away, and his heart sank.

There was no more hiding behind this anymore, and Mike knew it for sure now. He knew it as he took one last glance at the Byers house, which held so many of his memories with his best friend over the years. He knew it as he dejectedly rode away on his bike. He knew it as he wished Will was next to him, riding his bike in tandem, fringe flying back in the wind to reveal his forehead. He knew it as he walked into his house feeling numb and alone, and without any hesitation, letting his mom wrap her arms around him like he was that same little boy who just watched Will’s lifeless body being dragged out of the lake. 

It’s like every little piece of evidence, every little emotion he had been avoiding conscious thought of for years was finally unraveling. He suddenly understood why Will has always been just a _little_ more important than Dustin or Lucas. He understood why he can talk to Will about almost anything and why he was always there to return the favor. He understood why he was always openly affectionate with Will to make him feel better, and he understood why he was so eager to kiss the first girl who gave him the time of day. 

_“Well if we go crazy, we’ll go crazy together, right?”_

_“Yeah. Crazy together.”_

He understood why he could only turn to Will after losing Eleven, and why he was the only person he wanted to talk to about it. He understood why he spent every spare second he had next to Will when he was possessed, and he understood why five year old Will and Mike very seriously planned out what their wedding would look like. He understood his fathers eagerness to enroll Mike in football or baseball, or teach him how to do “manly” things like fixing a car despite his obvious lack of any athletic ability. 

He understood why his breath was short lived through the entirety of watching _The Outsiders_ for the first time, and he understood why seeing Rob Lowe with a towel nearly falling off his waist made him a little bit dizzy. 

_“Well, what if you wanna join another party?”_

_“Not possible.”_

Mike understood every conflicting thought and feeling that had been tugging away at his gut for the past three months, and every little sign he had pocketed away in a dark corner of his mind for years. 

He pulled out of his mom's embrace, quickly, cheeks flushed and mouth agape. He turned slowly, and in one quick movement ran up the stairs. He could hear his mom yelling his name behind him, and roughly shut his door. 

And for the first time ever, he let his feelings be heard. He let himself feel whatever he felt, and he cried.


	2. Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains homophobic language and slurs.

**1978**

Mike had searched the whole playground, from the rusty old tire swing to the monkey bars that only the big kids could reach, and Will was nowhere to be found. He had an awful gut feeling that not only was he hiding somewhere, but he was hiding from _someone_. His suspicions were only confirmed when he found Will curled up in a secluded area of the field, perched under the shade provided by an old oak tree. Mike’s stomach dropped. Will had buried his face in his knees, trying to make himself as small and as invisible as possible. He heard sniffling coming from the boy as his small frame shuddered lightly, and Mike's heart broke. 

He knelt in front of Will and gently asked what was wrong. Receiving no response, Mike plopped down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, holding him through his fit of sobs. Eventually the muffled sound of whimpers tampered out and Will lifted his head from where it was trapped between his legs. 

“They called me a fag,” he whispers, eyes locked on the ground in front of him. Something about his tone of voice struck Mike. Somehow, he knew that this was a word Will had heard before, and he didn’t seem to like it very much. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I don’t know,” Will shrugged, tiny voice coming out as nothing more than a faint murmur. “I just know it can’t mean anything good.” 

Mike had spent the rest of the day wondering why Will was able to say that with such certainty. He wondered if it was something his dad had called him before. Lonnie was never around much, but when he was, Will always seemed to trudge through the day just a little more quietly than usual.

That night, he snuck off into Nancy’s room and asked her, instead. 

“Nance?” He spoke up quietly. “What’s a fag?” 

Her face immediately dropped, looking to Mike with concern. “Why? Did someone call you that?” She asked urgently. 

“No,” Mike whispered, shaking his head rapidly. “Someone called Will that.” 

Nancy looked sympathetic, and her brow furrowed on itself as she went silent, seemingly lost in thought. Maybe she was thinking about whether or not she should tell Mike the truth. She didn’t. 

“Don’t worry about it, Mike.” 

“But I wanna—”

_“Don’t worry about it.”_

**1979**

Mike and Will were just on the cusp of turning nine when he had heard the word again. This time, it wasn’t just directed towards Will, but towards Mike, too. 

“What are you boys doing?” Lonnie rasped, voice laced with bitterness. Mike had heard Lonnie talk before, but he was consistently fascinated by the way he always seemed to slur his words together. Will says it’s because he’s always drinking. 

The two boys had immediately flinched away from where they were previously cuddled up on the couch. They were contentedly watching a rerun of _Star Wars_ and loudly giggling about who knows what when Lonnie had fiercely and aggressively interrupted them. Mike's arm had been wrapped tightly around Will’s waist, and in turn, Will had taken to resting his head gently on Mike's shoulder. 

Apparently Lonnie didn’t like that very much. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Will stuttered out nervously, fiddling with his fingers. It dawned on Mike that this must have been somewhat of a regular occurrence. Will had apologized too instantaneously for it not to be. Mike quickly averted his gaze down to the floor, embarrassed, scared of being yelled at. When he dared to look up, he caught a glimpse of red cheeks and flaring nostrils and his eyes began to sting. 

“You should be,” Lonnie spits harshly. Mike gulps, changing a glance at Will, who’s curled into a corner of the couch. “Boys don’t _cuddle_ ,” he sneers. Mike wants to cry. He wants to scream, and yell back, and pull Will into his arms because his best friend looks like he wants to disappear. 

Joyce walks in, and furrows her brows upon seeing the emotional state of the two boys. “What’s going on?” 

“You tell me what’s going on!” Lonnie turns to her, waving his arms frantically in the air as if to make some kind of point. “I walked in here and those two were all over each other!” 

Mike sinks down into the couch cushion behind him, copying Will’s small demeanor, trying to conceal himself. Pale knees tucked into his chest, long arms hooked around his legs. Joyce huffs, rolling her eyes. 

“So?” 

“So?” Lonnie repeats, incredulously.

“They’re not doing anything wrong!” Joyce points to the couch frantically. 

“Like hell they're not!” Lonnie bites back, gesturing around, trying to emphasize his point in some way. 

“They’re just kids!” Joyce shrieks, rivaling Lonnie's tone with her own. 

“I will not let these boys grow up to be _faggots!_ ” 

And Mikes pretty sure that’s when his eyes go completely blurry, and a lump takes full form in his throat. He suddenly understands why Will hates that word so much. Lonnie spit it with so much venom that Mike felt poisoned just from hearing it. 

Then, Joyce slaps him. A loud _smack_ rings out across the raw, intense atmosphere of the room before it goes eerily silent. Mike can hear Will’s labored breathing, and that’s when his own tears begin to spill over. Lonnie looks livid. Mike can see the fire in his eyes, and he watches as he takes a tentative step forward. Mike could only assume he was about to hit her back. But he takes one glance over at the two little boys sitting curled into the couch, and with cold eyes, steps back.

“Whatever,” he slurs. “That’s no son of mine.” 

And with that, he stumbled out of the room, accompanied only by a bottle full of some unknown golden colored liquid. He let the door close behind him with a loud _slam_.

Mike and Will sat stunned on the couch, each sniffling gently, quietly trying to subdue the sounds of their tears. Joyce ran both hands through her hair, shaking her head, obviously embarrassed by the scene her husband just caused. She turned towards the two kids, eyes shining with sympathy, and subsequently, guilt. 

“Mike, why don’t I take you home sweetie?” 

When Mike arrived back to his house that night, the first thing he did was barge into Nancy's room. She looked eminently annoyed, and not exactly keen on listening to anything her little brother had to say. But Mike was persistent, and this time he _had_ to know. 

So before she can yell at him to get out, he blurts out the question. “What’s a faggot?” 

Her face drops, and Mike _knows_ that whatever it is must be bad, because she looks just as concerned as she did a year ago when he asked this same exact question. “Why do you wanna know?”

Mike hesitates before whispering faintly. “Lonnie called us that today.”

Nancy clenches her jaw, and suddenly she looks angry. “You’re not.” 

“What is it?” Mike urges. 

He can tell Nancy doesn’t want to say it, but her eyes gleam with understanding. He’s a kid, but he’s not dumb. He knows it can’t be anything good. “Faggot is a really bad word for a boy who likes boys.” 

Mike furrows his brows. Surely that couldn’t be it. Why did everyone make it out to be such a bad thing? “What’s wrong with a boy liking another boy?” 

Nancy sighs. “People just don’t like it, Mike.” 

“Why not?” Now Mike was scared. Was it really so wrong for two boys to like each other? That’s stupid. That’s a stupid rule. He liked Will. He liked hanging out with him, and being close to him, and laughing with him. Was he not supposed to? 

Nancy must’ve been able to decipher what Mike was thinking, because she quickly scrambled to say something that would make him feel better. “Boys can be _friends_.” She explains. “Just, people don’t like it when two boys are _together_. Y’know, like the way mom and dad are together.” 

“Oh,” Mike gulped. Was it bad that he didn’t see a problem with that either? Was that why Lonnie had gotten so mad? 

“It’s honestly bullshit,” Nancy blurts. Mike flinches back at her vulgar choice of words, surprised to hear his big sister swearing. “I mean, I don’t think it matters who someone likes.” 

Mike didn’t know why she was saying this. Maybe she was trying to make him feel better, but Mike couldn’t think about anything other than the churning feeling in his gut. “Am I a faggot?” 

“No, _no_ , Mike,” Nancy babbles immediately. “Don’t call yourself that.” 

Mike felt like crying for the second time today. “But what if—” he cuts himself off. Mike feels bad, he feels _wrong_. 

“Mike—”

“Nevermind,” he murmurs, fiddling with his hands. He begins to make his way out of his sisters room. Nancy whispers, “Mike,” again, but he’s at the door before she can say anything else. 

He mutters a quick, “Night, Nance.” And with that, he leaves the room. 

Something changed between Will and Mike after that. Not anything jurassic. 

They were still a little extra affectionate with one another. Still each other’s best friends, still willing to talk to each other about anything and everything. But now there was that lingering voice at the back of his head. A voice that said, _that’s too close_ , or _that’s too much_ , or _stop before someone sees and gets the wrong idea_. There was a new line that they both knew they weren’t allowed to cross. And neither of them had really tried since then. They knew better. 

* * *

Mike may be oblivious, but he’s not blind. He saw the way Jessica Miller kept eyeing him in Biology, and she wasn’t exactly _subtle_ when she had told Mike that he could _totally tutor her sometime_ with a devious smirk gracing her glossy, red lips. 

Dodging her had been easy, but dodging Lucas? Not so much. 

His friend scoffed loudly, side-eyeing Mike as they began walking out of the classroom together, books in hand, backpacks slung over each of their shoulders. Kids brush around them, frantically trying to make their way to lunch, some trying to get to their next class in time. Mike and Lucas walk quickly to the cafeteria, neither one of them saying a word, but Mike just _knows_ that Lucas is gonna give him shit the second they sit down with the rest of the Party. 

“You guys missed it! Mike just blew off _Jessica Miller_ ,” Lucas immediately briefs, sliding into an empty spot next to Max. Mike and Dustin would never admit it, but they were running a bet on how long the couple would last this time. 

Mike sighs, relieving his shoulder as he slings his backpack underneath the table, plopping down next to Dustin. Max rolls her eyes like she couldn’t care less, but Dustin seems to be intrigued. 

“The sophomore?” He exclaims looking between the two boys. Mike can feel his cheeks heating up from embarrassment, meanwhile Lucas just nods smugly and wiggles his eyebrows. “She asked you out?” 

“I mean, not really,” Mike mutters, shrugging sheepishly. 

Lucas scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Oh c’mon, she was _totally_ flirting with you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she wants to go on a date or anything.” Mike points out. “She just,” he continues hesitantly, with a short mumble, “asked me to tutor her sometime.” 

He can feel the way Lucas is glaring at him incredulously, and when Mike looks up, he’s not the least bit surprised to find the two boys staring at him like he’s a moron. Max, although feigning interest for most of the conversation up until this point, lets a teasing smirk grace her lips. 

Dustin is the first to say anything. “Oh, she definitely wants in your pants.” 

Mike’s eyes blow wide, coughing into his water, and the rest of his friends only seem to find this amusing, laughing with each other, nodding in agreement. Their laughter is only spurred on as Mike sputters nervously, trying to figure out an intelligent response, but coming up short. 

“Cat got your tongue, Wheeler?” 

Mike glares at the redhead across the table before groaning dejectedly and letting his face fall into the palms of his hands. “Shut up.” He murmurs between his fingers. “That’s so gross.” 

In all honesty, Jessica seemed like a nice girl. And, yeah, she was attractive. Mike did have _eyes_ after all. Long, golden hair with glittering amber eyes, and lengthy, dark lashes that could lure any guy in with just one minuscule wink. Maybe Mike should’ve reciprocated her efforts. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so focused on why he didn’t. 

It was like he was always on edge now. Always worried that maybe his friends had _noticed_. There were far too many times that Mike caught himself looking at Dylan Molbak’s perfectly chiseled jaw or staring at Elliot Tiller’s arms because of the way they stretched the fabric of his t-shirt a little thin. And it's not like Mike hadn’t taken notice of the girls. With their long silky hair, and plump glossy lips, and firm curves. They were definitely still on his radar. But the thing is, Mike isn't the same guy he was a few months ago. He was still awkward, and irritable, and excessively chatty at times. But he started letting his hair grow out, despite his mothers wishes. He let it curl and coil and frizz out at the edges. He exchanged his dorky button-up polo shirts for nerdy graphic tees, and he exchanged his on-going interest in girls for his new-found interest in boys. Which was scary, but entirely adrenaline inducing at the same time. 

So, yeah, no Jessica Miller. Sorry, Lucas. 

His friend's laughter had fizzled out, and Mike had begun picking at his food as a distraction from the conversation. But he could feel eyes burning into his skull, and he felt scrutinized. When he lifted his head, Lucas was looking at him questioningly, face contorted into a jaunty sort of smirk. 

“What?” Mike snapped. 

“So,” Lucas began, sounding cocky and impish. “You’re still with El.” It was stated like a fact, but Max and Dustin were listening patiently, seemingly interested in whatever answer Mike was gonna throw at them. 

And, _fuck_ , Mike really didn’t want to have this conversation today. He had pretty much planned on avoiding this particular topic until he had to confront it head on with the girl in question during his trip to visit over thanksgiving. Which, by the way, was only _two_ _days_ away. _So fucking close._

Mike didn’t even know if they were together. Which was deplorable, really. But in his defense, neither one of them had brought it up. She kissed him, she left, and now the only source of communication they’ve had is through weekly phone calls. They found time to talk more days than not, but neither of them had taken the plunge and explicitly brought it up. Were they back together? Did El take that kiss to mean that their relationship is back to the way it was before? Does Mike even want that anymore? 

“Yes?” Mike replies, obviously unsure of his own answer. “Maybe?” He flops his arms around restlessly, and finally just shrugs. “I don't know.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Dustin balks. 

“Well, like,” Mike pauses, trying to figure out how to explain it. “She kissed me before she left,” He goes on, conveniently leaving out the part where she told him she loved him. “But I don’t know if that means we got back together, y’know?” 

Lucas hummed in agreement, shooting Mike a look that said, _I hear ya, man_. Meanwhile, Dustin and Max were staring at him in complete bewilderment. 

“God,” Max scoffs. “You’re such a dumbass.” 

Dustin nodded in agreement. “Completely clueless.” 

Mike scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, turning his attention back down towards his food.

Max and Dustin just traded a look of annoyance, shaking their heads lightly. Lucas merely nodded as if he understood. “Girls are confusing.” 

“Yeah,” Mike chuckled stiffly. “Totally.”

* * *

Mike hesitated by the phone. He had run his hands through his hair enough times to turn his curls into loose waves. He thought a lot about what Max and Dustin said. And he was tired of being stuck in this limbo, skirting around the pressing topic of conversation every time he talked to Eleven. He wanted to be able to talk to her without feeling so on edge about it. He wanted to be her _friend_. 

And it was just a question, right? Shouldn’t be too hard. He needed to bite his tongue and just _do it_ , otherwise he would spend another two hours standing by the phone, staring at it like the thing would explode if he so much as touched it. 

Okay. Here goes nothing. 

Mike gathered up his confidence, swallowed his pride and snatched the phone off the receiver, holding the cold plastic against his ear. He quickly punched in the familiar numbers, and waited as the line began ringing in his ear. He chewed on his lip absentmindedly. 

“Hello?” 

_El._

Which was good. That was the whole reason Mike called in the first place. To talk to her. It’s just that—Mike sighed internally—he was expecting to talk to Will first. That’s usually how things went. Will would answer with a quick greeting, and the two boys would begin aimlessly chatting about school or movies or comics or really just anything that happened to cross their minds in that particular moment. But Will always ended up cutting their conversations short by asking, “do you wanna talk to El?” 

And Mike didn’t feel right saying no, so he always just muttered a small, “sure.” It’s what he was supposed to do, right? 

But this time, Eleven picked up first. Mike didn’t even have time to calm himself down by listening to Will ramble about his latest art project. _Fuck._

“Hello?” Her small voice rings out again, and that’s when Mike realizes he’s been quiet for a little too long. 

He clears his throat harshly. “Hey, El.” 

“Hi,” she replies immediately, smile evident in her tone. Mike grimaces, preparing himself to breach the exact topic he’s been purposefully avoiding for weeks. 

“So, um,” he hesitated. “I wanted to talk about something.” 

El hummed in acknowledgement on the other side of the line, and Mike frowned, gnawing on his lower lip to try and ease some of his anxiety. She probably thought they were about to have one of their usual conversations, chatting away mindlessly, rambling about any mundane topic they could think of, like Eggos.

But, no. 

“Are we together?” He spits out hastily. 

“What?” She asks, confusion lacing her tone. Mike can practically see the way she furrows her brow in bemusement. 

“I—” Mike sighs, head falling back against the wall behind him. “Are we together?” He asks again, gentler this time. “Like, _together_ together?” 

The line went silent. Mike’s palms were sweating as he shifted nervously between both his feet. He absentmindedly chewed on one of his fingernails, waiting for a response. 

“I don’t know,” She says, voice coming through ever so softly. “Are we?” 

And that made him pause. His breath hitched like he was about to say something, the word _yes_ resting on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually spit it out. It felt too empty, too hollow. He couldn’t keep stringing her along like this when he _knew_ it didn’t feel right. But the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her. 

“I guess if neither of us know, we’re probably not.” He whispered into the speaker eventually, so softly it was barely audible. But she must’ve heard it, because she became eerily silent and unreadable. 

“Do you wanna be?” She asks quietly. 

Mike winced. “I don’t know.” He answers honestly. 

She goes quiet again. He listened for a response, or really just anything to let Mike know what she might be thinking, what she might be feeling. But, nothing. The only indication of her presence on the other side of the line was her steady breaths. And Mike feels conflicted, because on one hand this could’ve gone so much worse, but on the other hand it also could’ve gone so much better. 

“Okay,” she whispers eventually. Mike goes to say something else. An apology, a light hearted joke, a consultation, _anything_ to break this awful lingering tension. Something to make it all okay. But he only gets as far as saying, “El, I still—” before she cuts him off. “Bye, Mike.” 

And then the line goes silent. 

* * *

“El?” 

Will’s door creaked as she entered his room. No warning, no knock, nothing. She walked in quietly, mind obviously occupied, and trailed over to his bed without saying a single word. She pulled her legs up to her chest, gaze locked on the wall in front of her, fingers fiddling with his soft comforter.

“What’s wrong?” Will pressed, now concerned. 

“I think Mike just broke up with me.” She stated, face remaining relatively unreadable. 

“Oh,” Will mumbles, brows furrowing together in confusion. Had they even formally gotten back together? He had his suspicions of course, but neither of them ever mentioned it, and Will was perfectly content with living in his own little bubble. “I didn’t know you two were still dating,” he mumbled. And maybe he should’ve come up with a better response. Something more comforting. But, _fuck_ , he’s never had a sister before. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information, and he wasn’t even sure why she had come to him with it in the first place. Out of all people, why Will? His mom would be _way_ better at handling this. 

“I guess we never officially were.” She shrugs. _Well, shit._

“Are you okay?” He ventures. She blinks slowly before finally looking up and meeting Will’s gaze. She wasn’t crying, and she wasn’t red in the face. She just looked stoic. Like maybe she was still trying to process it all. 

“I thought he loved me.” She says quietly, ignoring his question. 

Will felt a pang of sympathy hit him in the chest. He knew how she felt. He knew _exactly_ how she felt, and he hated himself for it. “He does.” He says thoughtfully. 

El sat there quietly, seeming to ponder Will’s response. “He does?” 

“He does.” Will confirms. “Maybe not in the same way he did before, but he _does_ still love you, El.”

“Not the same?” 

“Maybe he just wants to be friends now.” Will explained. He wasn’t sure if any of what he said was helping, but Eleven seemed to be taking his words to heart. Like he was some kind of expert. He definitely wasn’t. 

“Friends.” She whispers, nodding along slowly. “Are we friends?” She asks softly. 

Will furrows his brows. “Hm?”

“You and me.” She states. “Are we friends?” 

Will hesitates for a moment, contemplating the question. Were they? Not formally. Not in the way the rest of the Party was. But they lived in the same house, and they technically had the same mother, and Will wanted to learn how to do this whole brother thing. He wanted to get to know Eleven without constantly hoarding a secret resentment for the fact that she “stole” Mike. 

“I’d like to be.” He smiles softly. 

She quirks a smile back. “Me too.” 

* * *

Mike didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sad. Eleven was one of the most important people in the world to him, and he didn’t want to lose that just because their relationship was changing. Maybe he should’ve waited to talk about it. Maybe he should’ve waited just a few more days until he could see her in person and have a conversation face to face. He just hopes she isn’t mad. El would always hold a special place in Mike's heart, would always be a central figure in Mike’s life. Just maybe not in the same way he always used to imagine. 

Will is his closest friend, and despite everything that happened over the summer, they’ve always been able to _talk_ to each other. That’s one of the things Mike values most about their friendship. Will’s a quiet and attentive listener. If he needs advice? Will’s there. A shoulder to cry on? Will’s there. If he just needs someone who’ll let him ramble without any interruptions? You guessed it, Will’s there. 

So why was it making him so damn anxious now? Mike was tightly clutching the cerebro receiver to his chest, but every time he made a move to go say something he gave up. What did he even _want_ to say? 

_Hey, Will, so I’m pretty sure me and El just ended things, and I’m worried she might hate me now. Also, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I kinda think that I might be in love with you. Funny, right? Silly me. Anyways, still pals?_

Yeah, no. Not happening. _Never_ happening. 

Mike sighs and flops back onto the cool grass beneath him. “Hello?” He clutches the receiver tightly between his fingers, resting it near his lips. He breathes out shakily. “Will? Are you there?” He asks again. Nothing. “Will? It’s Mike. Over.” 

The line stays silent. Mike grows disappointed. He squeaks out another question, quieter this time. “Will?” 

He’s about to give up. Turn cerebro off, trudge his way back down the hill, and spend the rest of his night sulking in his room. 

But then, the radio crackles to life. “Mike?” 

Mike huffs out a sigh of relief, revealing in the sound of his voice. “Hey,” he croaks. 

“Hey,” Will replies softly. “You haven’t used this channel in forever.” 

They used to radio each other through their own separate channel all the time. Sometimes they would talk for hours into the night until the battery began wearing out. When they got a little older, Will would use it to contact Mike if he was having a particularly bad flashback or nightmare, and Mike would do the same. When Eleven came back, their late night radio calls slowly began fizzling out until they were inexorably a thing of the past. Mike felt a pang of guilt. 

“Yeah, I just—” He cut himself off, continuing in a faint whisper. “Wanted to hear your voice, I guess.” 

He heard Will shuffle around for a minute before muttering a small, “Oh.” 

“Me and El broke up.” Mike announces. 

Will doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by this piece of information, simply just humming in response. Mike doesn’t know why he expects him to be. “So I heard.” 

Mike grimaces. “She told you?” 

“Yeah,” Will admits, softly. They both go silent for a minute, only registerable sound being the fuzzy static of breathing. 

“Is she mad at me?” He asks gently. 

“Uh,” Will starts, seemingly unsure. _Great._ “I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think so.” 

“Oh,” Mike blurts. “Uh, that’s good then.” 

“Why did you guys break up?” Will asks gingerly. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before speaking. “I don’t know. It’s just different now, I guess.” 

Will speaks up, faintly, hesitantly. “Why?” 

_You._ Mike wants to say immediately. He bites his tongue. He couldn’t confess to that, no matter how much he wanted to. “Just,” he pauses, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Distance, I guess.” 

Will hums gently in response, and Mike doesn’t know why, but he feels like Will _knows_ he’s lying. If he does, he doesn’t say as much. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He responds immediately, lying straight through his teeth. Was he? He wasn’t sure. He had spent such a long time blocking out anything and everything that made him different. Just five months ago he had been pushing his friends away in favor of trying to be normal. He spent his days hyper-fixating on Eleven because that’s what boys his age were supposed to do, right? They were supposed to be ultra hormonal and girl-obsessed. So Mike played the role. And in doing so, he let Will slip right through his fingertips. 

Over the past month, he had gotten past the stage of denial and somewhere along the way transitioned into acceptance. If this is who he was, so be it. He liked Will. And he was beginning to wonder why that was such a bad thing? Growing up, it was ingrained in his head that boys were _not_ supposed to like other boys. He pushed any and all thoughts of that possibility away, and buried his feelings in a dark corner of his mind until he couldn’t even remember they existed. 

And although his parents had tended to censor that kind of stuff when Mike was little, that filter seemed to have been blurred lately. He had heard it more than once. Around the dinner table, watching morning news, yelling seeping into the walls of his bedroom. His dad had made it _very_ clear how he felt about homosexuality. 

_Degenerates. Sinners. Sodomites. Deviants._

Mike had heard it all, and not just from the lips of his father either. 

_Fag, fairy, queer, gay, sissy._

He didn’t want to be those things. He didn’t want people to call him those things. So he avoided his feelings like the Black Plague. But his shell was beginning to break. Mike was beginning to realize that maybe he wasn’t the one with the problem, society was. 

“I can’t wait to see you.” He croaks out. 

Mike can hear Will suck in a sharp breath, like he still doesn’t believe him, but he replies excitedly anyways. “Me too. What time will you be here?” 

“I’m not sure,” Mike replies, smile lingering on his lips. “Nancy says we’re leaving pretty early in the morning. So probably around noon-ish.” 

“Awesome,” Will replies, smile evident in his tone. 

They continue chatting haphazardly, glossing over mundane topics, talking themselves horse. Will mentioned showing Mike around his new home. 

“We technically don’t live _in_ Chicago,” he’d stated hastily, “but we’re close enough for a cheap bus fare. I could show you the city.” 

And Mike suggested that they could begin planning a campaign for when they’re in Hawkins over Christmas break. Will responded excitedly, talking over different characters and events and plot twists that they could incorporate. They eventually moved on to chatting about school (specifically how agonizingly aggravating it was), and Will’s art, and Mike’s writing. And sooner or later Mike had asked Will if him and El were having any luck making new friends. Apparently, they weren't. 

“It’s been hard,” Will admitted quietly. “Me and El mostly just hang out with each other.” 

“Oh c’mon, there has to be at least _one_ person.” Mike insists. He was secretly hoping that maybe there truly was _no one_. It was incredibly selfish and possessive, but Mike hated the idea of being replaced. 

“Well,” Will inhales sharply. “There’s this one guy who sits with us at lunch sometimes. He’s in my art class.” 

“Really?” He chokes out.

“Yeah,” Will confirms, more confident this time. “Uh, his name’s Elliot.”

Will says it with such reverence, such adoration, that Mike's heart drops to the pit of his stomach. 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kind of all over the place, but it's a huge set up for the main plot of the story, so yeah. im gonna be honest, im kind of just coming up with the plot as i go and this is what happened. hope y'all like it (:


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